Two Teen

Dearest Collin,

The day is upon us. Tomorrow, you will become my second teenager.  As is always the case, I feel that this year has flown by and tomorrow could not possibly be your birthday again. As is always the case, I cannot slow time down, and tomorrow is your birthday again.  Time is cruel in that way.

I want you to know that I have loved this last year with you, watching you grow and mature.  I have loved this past year, because in some ways, time has been kind, and although you're a big kid, you still hold on to some of that younger-child joy.  There's a sparkle in your eye when you wonder that I hope you never lose, like I believe you will never lose your love of dinosaurs.  My momma heart hopes you hold onto that as long as possible.  The world as a whole makes us grow up sooner than we should, often times, and holding onto those special things that bring you joy is important, if you ask me.

I know that you do not always agree with me, but Collin, you are so smart.  So often, I will be talking about some random topic, and although I do not realize you're listening, from across the room, you will interject some random fact, or answer a question I hadn't even asked yet, and I absolutely adore that about you.  I love the way your mind works.  I find it to be an intriguing place, and I often muse about what kind of things are buried deep inside.  

I have enjoyed watching you grow in courage as well.  When you went to the youth group retreat this summer, I had a moment of tears, seeing you ready to experience something like that, far away from me, not knowing what to expect, but being full of anticipation.  I heard such wonderful things about you and the color you bring to people's lives when you are not with me.  

I love watching you with your cousins.  Although most of them are younger than you, you connect with them in fantastic ways.  One of my favorite moments of the summer cousin time was when one of your cousins told me that she knows you will protect her.   I loved watching the two of you laugh endlessly, then focus and discuss things on the couch together.  I just love seeing you "click" into place with people.  I love that more than one of your cousins has told me recently that they know you love them so very much.   

I love that we all know that even if there is tension sometimes, sibling bickering, or foul moods, you will ALWAYS have our backs.  You are always on our side.  You have fierce, unwavering love for the people you choose to love, and you would do anything you could to protect them.  We have seen it many times.  I pray that as you continue to grow in patience and wisdom, you will be able to discern the right time and way to stand up for those you care for.    

I know that you are going to do big things in this world.  I know that you are going to continue to live a life of inquisitive discovery, and that you are going to find special ways to leave a lasting mark.  I know that you are passionate for making this world a better place, that you love the environment, nature, animals, and more.  I have seen the fire in your spirit when you hear or see injustice.  

As always, there are struggles in each year that we live and grow, but really, Collin, this last year was so wonderful overall.  You have become more patient, and less quick to react in many situations.  I know that it has been a hard road to get to this point, and I have seen you work incredibly hard to be where you are.  I know that it isn't always easy and that mistakes will be made, but I also know you learn from each of them.  

I pray that in this coming year, as a teenager, you continue to find passions and interests in new and exciting things.  The world is still opening up for you, and there are countless opportunities ahead of you to find what brings you joy.  

I pray that you continue to have patience, grace, and kindness for those around you, and that each day, you feel patience, grace, and kindness toward you as well.  You give some of the very best hugs on the planet, and I pray that you never stop sharing that gift with me and the many others who love them too.  

I pray that while you grow stronger, you continue to grow gentler as well, and are able to find the balance in each moment.  I pray that your love of nature, of cats, and the rest of the world around you continues to deepen.  

I pray that you are always able to find safe spaces and comfort in your environment.  

I pray that while your mind continues to race, it also continues to learn to rest. 

I pray that you and your siblings continue to grow up, but grow together, and use these next years to solidify your bond that will carry you through the rest of your lives.  Siblings are a priceless treasure, and I pray that you all always know that you can count on one another. Always. 

I pray that as you continue on in middle school, you find your people- the ones you know will have your back just like you do for so many that you love. I pray that you will find yourself as part of the larger community of peers, and never as an outsider.  

I pray that even though you sometimes feel different, you realize we are all unique, and even in your differences, you truly, completely belong.

I pray you will continue to be proud to be my son and never embarrassed to be with me.  There's something so wonderful about the fact that you are still willing to hold my hand while walking sometimes.  I love that you tell me you love me in the drop off lane at school as you exit the car- even if occasionally you're in a grumpy morning mood.

I pray that these teenage years are a lot of fun. I know there's potential for... moods, and stuff... that comes with the age, but I also know that there's potential for SO. MUCH. FUN.  It has already been a joy seeing our relationship grow and evolve as time ebbs on.  

I pray you will always let me call you Ollie Bear, even if it's eventually only in secret.

Collin, my love, the world is a better place with you in it.  Never let yourself believe otherwise. 

I pray that being a teenager is all you dream it will be, and so much more.  

You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. I'm so glad you're mine.

Love,

Mom

 

Vierzehn?!

 Dearest Spencer,

Fourteen.

Really?

Fourteen?

Can’t be.

Guess it is. 

Vierzehn. Wir werden damit weitermachen. Es klingt weniger verrückt, oder?

Ja.

As I write this you’re enjoying your “up later than your sister” bedtime privileges in the other room, doing teenager things.  When you first started taking your space from the rest of us, I was worried. Maybe even secretly offended, wondering what we were doing wrong.

Then it dawned on me- that’s a typical teenage thing.

Sure, you became a teenager last year.  But you’ve become more of a teenager over the course of the year, if that makes any sense at all. 

I know some people talk about how teenagers can be a bit… much.  It’s true, there are times when it feels like chaos and uncertainty and difficult and exhausting and confusing.  I realize more and more how outnumbered I am at home.  But… so far, it’s been mostly enjoyable, I think… I’m hoping you would agree, but feel free to share with me your brutal honesty on that one once you read this letter.

When it dawned on me that you’re doing typical teenage things now, I was a little scared.  It felt like brand new territory.  I’m not sure why, because clearly, I was a teenager once, and I hung out with other teenagers once upon a time, and half of them were boys.  Yet, I had myself convinced it was going to be slightly terrifying somehow.

Maybe it will be. I like to think it won’t.  I’m practical in the brain sometimes, so I won’t be surprised if it is.

I digress,

Tomorrow, you’re going to wake up and be vierzehn and time has still not slown down even a little bit. You’re one year closer to the day where you will decide to live away from me and your siblings and the whole world as we know it will change.  That realization is ever present in my mind, and it’s why I try tos spend as much time with you doing carefree or interesting things with you- forcing you to swim in a lake, taking you hiking, going to the park, and whatever other things I “forced” you to do (or sweet talked you into).

I loved every minute you were with me this year, even if the minute itself sucked for whatever reason, because it was one minute time couldn’t steal you away from me.

Someday I’m going to be old and you’ll have a life of your own and I’ll look back on the hard times and laugh and be grateful for them, even if we are having a cranky day and you don’t want me to make jokes. I do love that you get my jokes though and goodness knows I appreciate yours (when timed properly of course, because we are very similar like that).

Secret time, and don’t be embarrassed: You’re a really good kid. I see it. I know it. Others see it. Others know it. Others tell me.

Granted, we all have our issues, yours included (I would really like you to turn in more of your homework, after all, for example), but deep down, you’ve got an amazing, caring, compassionate heart, a brilliant mind, excellent wit, creative problem solving and reasoning, and some of the best hugs I’ve ever received.  It’s been so odd transitioning to you being the taller one in a hug and often being the one to initiate it, but I adore those moments more than you know. Wouldn’t want to make it awkward and be all mushy hearted.

This year has been a whirlwind with lots of good and some not so good, of course.  The surprise trip to Florida with your aunt, uncle, cousin, siblings, and I, was the things dreams were made of.  I savored all of the joy you emitted and the whimsy and wonder of all the new experiences we had together.  It’s a week I will remember and cherish my entire life. What a gift we were all given.

I know the end of the school year, the summer, and the beginning of this school year have been tainted with the familiar stench of fatherly abandonment, and I am so sorry that is a rerun you have to live through again.  I am proud of the young man you’re becoming through all of life’s challenges though.  Your ability to voice your thoughts and emotions continues to grow, your honesty is precious, and your resilience is something to treasure. There’s been some really terrible times in your life but still, you smile on, you laugh, and you love.  

I have loved watching your quiet faith blossom as well.  A few weekends ago, when you had a word for prayer time in church, and you bravely sent it in, and the congregation prayed it, and then we found out someone in the church that you don't personally know knew someone that fit that prayer request perfectly- I had chills all over my body but electric burning warmth in my spirit.  It was a beautiful moment, and I was so overjoyed to see you following the whispers you hear God sending your way. I pray your faith continues to grow and you continue to hear, see, and seek Jesus in countless ways.  

I’ve also loved watching my biggest kid love the smallest kids in our family.  Sometimes, I watch you interact with your younger cousins and I just want to literally, audibly, squeal in your face because it’s beautiful moments.  They look up to you and love you deeply.  They see the light in your spirit, too.   I love watching you interact with your uncles as you continue to get older and see the bonds you form with them, too.  Your aunts have always been close to your heart and strong, and it’s been such a delight to see your relationships with your uncles growing. 

Spencer, thank you for continuing to be playful and fun with me others around you, and not being too cool to give me hugs on the regular.  Thank you for helping people in need, even if no one else sees them, without being asked or expecting praise for doing so.  Thank you for being willing to learn new skills and help with different projects that you can do now that you’re older.  Thank you for teaching me new things. Thank you for laughing with me.  Thank you for singing car duets with me, which is hands-down one of my favorite parts of road trips.  Thank you for being you.

I pray that this year, your friendships and other peer relationships grow deeper roots. I pray you find more people to be in your tribe, with similar interests. I pray that you grow to love school and enjoy challenges and are able to let go of the burden of perfectionism.  You are enough as you are, you know.  I pray that you experience vierzehn more times joy than heartache.  I pray that you realize how brave, strong, and smart you are.  I pray that you (and I) savor the minutes, hours, days, weeks, and months this year and hold onto the goodness they bring as long as possible.

I love you.

Like…

A lot.

We’re in this together, forever.

And did I mention…

Ich liebe dich?

Immer.

Mom

Someday, You Can’t

 This summer has started out so very similar to the many summer “vacations” we have had before in our little family.  School is out, leisure time abounds (for the children anyway) and we set off to intentionally spend time together doing, generally, simple activities to create memories together.   This past year, the kiddos finished 7th, 5th, and 4th grades.  They’re getting older, and each year, that fact weighs silently on my mind a little heavier.

Over the last handful of years (it feels like very few, but it has been 7 or so), I have lost two aunts and two uncles, each of my parents having said their earthly farewells to at least one sibling.  I have had the sorrow of saying these goodbyes to many people over the years, and the finality of death has not escaped me since I was a child.  

My own children are coming to grips with these circumstances in ways they’re understanding much more deeply as they’re growing up. This past winter, we learned the devastating news that a deeply loved uncle passed away.  This death rocked my children’s hearts a little harder, because he was an uncle they spent a considerable amount of time with when we would go back to my hometown area in MN.  He would randomly show up and spend wonderful hours playing alongside my children, loving on all of us.  My kids refer to him as “the best kind of uncle” and their hearts have taken many months to speak his name without their voices cracking or tears filling their eyes.  I think more than any so far, this was the death that really left a life altering impact.

Since his funeral, we have had many conversations about spending time with those you love.  There’s a song that we all love, “Til You Can’t,” and the lyrics are simple and powerful and remind us that someday, those people you love won’t be there anymore, so stop putting off until another day the time you could share right now.

This lesson has applied to multiple circumstances since my uncle’s passing, but today, sitting beside an algae-tinted lake under cloudy grey skies, I watched two of my children float around on inner tubes, while my oldest sat beside me, digging in the sand, unwilling to participate in the activity.  He insisted it was good enough that he came along and that having fun was not a necessary part of the endeavor.  On one hand, I understood where he was a coming from, and almost agreed to an extent, but my momma heart turned on the waterworks and silent tears fell down my cheeks. I did not look his way.  I stifled any sniffle I felt coming, and I tried to swallow my emotions down so that I would not guilt trip or embarrass him making an emotional scene.

I was not upset that he was resisting the fun, I realized as I dug to the root of my flood, but rather, I was wading through a conversational path we had taken earlier this summer- the “18 summers” talk.  We had heard on the radio that children basically have eighteen summers  and then they’re adults.  Sometimes, it’s less, whether it’s death, taking on summer jobs, or other reasons.  We discussed how he’s already 13, his brother almost 12, and his sister is 10.  Most of those 18 summers have passed us by, and a few of them felt cheated due to being quite sick with covid and then another recovering from a spinal injury. This summer will feel shorter as of month from now I will have a surgery to repair my foot and will be unable to drive or do much for the rest of the summer.   “The days feel long but the years rush by,” I told him. He agreed.  That morning we drove in silence for a while until the next song came on the radio.

Tonight, sitting on the beach, I realized my heart was aching for my children and the realization that these days are also going by really quickly, and soon, they’ll be gone.  Much like the song I referenced above, we can’t guarantee there will ever be another peaceful day on the lake where all three children could float on the waves, splashing, laughing, and forming those memories that will carry them through their lifetimes. 

I finally decided to speak.

“I’m not mad, buddy.  I’m not disappointed.  I’m just realizing how short these days really are.” I said.  

I reminded him of the 18 summers.

“Why do they want to hang out with me? I’m a boring moody teenager. They think I’m annoying.”

“Siblings say that.  But they don’t always mean it in their soul.  They mean it in the minute, but when that minute is gone, they’re going to realize they were wrong.”

He gave me an argumentative look, but held his words before replying.

I went on to explain to him that now, as a 40 year-old, seeing half a lifetime go by, having spent so many summers orchestrating memories with my children, I see it from a fresh perspective.  It’s true that their summers are winding down.  Mine are long gone.

I told him about moving to college when my youngest sister was a toddler.  I had a two-hour commute to see any of my siblings at that point, when my summers had gone from being at home beside them, leaving to spend it with friends, to working at a camp and never living at home with any of them again. As the oldest of four, I understood how sometimes it feels like a burden to play with or entertain younger siblings.  I know how it sometimes feels like you’d rather be doing anything other than splashing in a lake.  I understand how you might not want to sit beside your parents for hours on end when you could be interacting with someone your own age who would undoubtedly be more fun and certainly more cool.

I get it.

Thankfully, I have loved my siblings fiercely all of their lives, and as an adult, although they were younger, I still made time and conscious effort to make memories and have adventures with them, often bringing them home with me for multiple days so we could explore, play, laugh, and grow together.  I am blessed beyond measure for years upon years of that.

But I get what it’s like on the other side of all of that, to see your grown-up siblings a fistful of times a year.  Often, those times are spend reminiscing, joking, and laughing about the years that have already passed by.

I understand wishing that we had even more hilarious inside jokes and fun memories than we do.  Yes, we have countless wonderful memories and photos of our adventures, and they are indescribably invaluable, but my heart aches knowing we could have had more. My sisters have become some of my dearest friends, and when push comes to shove, as annoying as we might have thought each other were growing up, any of us siblings would be there in an instant in the best ways we could if we were needed.  That love is rooted deeply despite differences and years apart. 

But we could have had more.

I am the one who left them behind, potentially like my oldest could to his siblings someday.  The effort to be with my siblings when my summers had faded and theirs were still in full bloom sometimes felt insurmountable and I know in retrospect that I took the days and hours we did have for granted more than I would have ever cared to admit at the time.

It’s that hindsight that has me looking straight ahead at the end of my own children’s summer roads.

He stood up and he hugged me, like he has so many times before.  I thanked him for coming along.  I realize, though I haven’t spoken the realization aloud to him, that at any time, I could tell him that he “has to” come along, and he could refuse, and that would be that. My days of carrying him to the car and buckling him into a seat have been long over.

“I think I’m gonna go get changed,” he told me.  Off he went to put on his swim trunks.  Together, we inflated his tube, and he hit floated out into the lake to laugh beside his siblings.

We all four talked on the way home about trying our best to pause and take in the moments, to take the chances, and to make the memories while we still can.

“Because someday, you can’t” my oldest said. “Like the song.”

I know we likely will not always been in the frame of mind to see adventures and outings that way.  I’m praying I will always have a grateful heart for the days when we do and the patient grace to remember that my children are growing older and more independent, and it will eventually change no matter how hard I try to keep the days from slipping through my fingers.

And a decade has passed us...

My dearest Collin Liam,

Ten years ago today, I was almost two full weeks past my due date in my pregnancy with you.  I had tried quite literally everything I could think of to coax you out into this world, and you were content as could be staying where you were.

Some things haven’t changed much in ten years.

You still want to come along on your own time.  You still maybe are a little bit pokey sometimes.  You still don’t want to be without your momma for very long.  In fact, you’ve told me you want to live with me until you’re older than 50.  You are still almost always moving, bouncing around, making noise.

Lots of things have changed though.  Your birthmark has gotten barely lighter but oh so much bigger.  Your hair is long and a little unkempt most days.  You have gotten so much taller, too.

This year, I’ll keep it short and sweet, because I have noticed lately you stop paying attention if I start getting too long winded.

Ollie Bear, I am proud of you.  You’ve grown tremendously with your emotional and spacial awareness.  You are learning to take pause when you’re becoming overwhelmed.  

You have become so brave.  You are so kind, especially to little children and those much older than you.  You are incredibly smart, which we always knew, but have begun to focus even more in school and allow others to really see it too. You are wildly creative, especially in your play.  I have loved watching you develop a deep friendship with your sister, and listening to the two of you play dinosaurs is so much fun.  You have become quite an innovative problem solver, and increased in your scavenging skills, both outside and in our own cupboards.  

I pray this year is filled with goodness beyond your wildest dreams. I pray you see the gold in yourself as others around you see it within you.  I pray that you continue to be in touch with your beautiful, caring heart, and that patience and wisdom in tough circumstances continues to develop.  I pray that you see your own prayers answered right before your eyes.  I pray that you develop deep, lasting friendships.  I pray that you never have a single day without a hug.

In the morning, shortly after midnight actually, you will be one full decade old.  I can hardly believe it.   Like is still the case, the night you were born, you decided you were ready to meet us and you came quickly and dramatically, as you often do when you’re ready to be somewhere or doing something now.  You snuggled right up to me, like you still do, ten years later.  You’ve loved hugs every day of those ten years, you know.

I’m so thankful you are mine, Mister Man.  

You’re one of the best things that ever happened to me and I’m so glad you’re mine.

Love you, always and forever,

Mom

It's great to be eight.

 Dear Ollie Bear,

Here we are, again.  I feel like this birthday came so quickly this year.  I believe it’s because the last six months were a lotta bit crazy.

Here we are, regardless.  Tonight is your last night being seven years old.  “It’s great to almost be eight,” you told me tonight.  I presume tomorrow morning, it will be “great to BE eight” for real.  Eight years ago this evening, 12 days after your due date, I was not-so-patiently waiting for you to be placed in my arms after being induced in the afternoon.  You came after midnight, with your umbilical cord tied in a stacked-double knot.  I think I say that every year, as it is a fact and an image that will forever be burned in my mind.   You’ve been a resilient little miracle from the beginning, you know.

Oh, my dearest Collin, this year was one for the books.  Over the course of the last year, you have grown immensely, not only in stature, finally breaching four feet tall, but emotionally and socially as well.  Despite your first-grade school year being cut short, meaning that your time in the classroom with your absolutely phenomenal blessing of a teacher came to a close earlier than any of us wanted, you finished first grade filled to the brim with knowledge and beaming with pride.  I was beaming with pride right alongside you.  You have approached the second grade school year, just two school days ago, with confidence and calm, despite a chaotic world around you.

I have to admit, little man, I am incredibly proud of you.  I have seen you transform right before my eyes in ways I find it hard to describe.  While you still have a firecracker spirit, your reservoir of calm has begun deepening in your spirit.  You have grown in your ability to pause before reacting, and although it’s never perfect for anyone, you’ve grown leaps and bounds in your impulse control.  Just recently, a teacher at daycare boasted to me with pride in her voice about how another boy hit you for seemingly no reason, and instead of being upset, lashing out, or getting even, you simply told him it was not okay and you walked away.  You even told her about how you were going to give the boy another chance to play with you soon, because he could be a good friend.  I had tears in my eyes hearing the story.  

As you have been all of your years, you are such a caring boy.  You have a gentleness in your soul that shines brilliantly with younger children.  You have loved babies for as long as I can remember, but you’ve also come to love toddlers, taking little ones by the hand and playing with them, just because you can.  You have done the same with preschool aged children as well.  You are really maturing in your relationships.  I know there’s still growth to be gained upon and progress to be made, but you have come so very far from the struggles you used to have.  I am excited to see what the coming year brings.

The level at which you read amazes me, as well as the speed at which you pick up knowledge, even, or especially when, it seems like you’re not paying any attention at all.  The amount of information in your brain must be coming up close to an encyclopedia worth, I am fairly certain.  

Your sense of humor brings me such joy.  You are such a funny guy.  I love the witty little things you say and the ease at which you say them.  I think we are similar in that way.  You keep me laughing and smiling, even on hard days where we struggle.  You’re also clever in your problem solving, which is sometimes quite comical as well.

I covet your hugs. You have always been one to hug with such energy.  It’s like your love just has to be shared.  

I love that your getting bigger, but in some ways you still remind me so much of how you’re little.  You still adore dinosaurs and playing in water.  You love to read.  You also have grown to love video games, and are becoming quite good at playing them with your brother which is a little new to me still.  In that way, you’re growing up to be a big kid, I know.

I realize this year, as it was for your sister’s birthday, is one unlike any other.  Fortunately for you, we are no longer in covid-19 isolation, so your birthday, unlike your sisters, can be spent with people outside our walls.  However, this pandemic has changed some things about the way in which we can celebrate.  It makes my momma heart sad to know that I cannot come have birthday lunch with you at school.  I hope tomorrow, you enjoy the little surprises and funny card I sneak into your lunch box.  I hope that your friends enjoy the suckers we are sending, instead of cupcakes or other non-individually wrapped treats.  I know that hugs are probably going to be more scarce this year due to social distancing, but I hope you can still feel the love and celebration of others around you.  I hope you can begin to understand the great joy you bring to others’ lives.

Oh, Ollie, this year I pray that you continue to grow in patience and calm, that your impulses continue to be easier to control, and that you are able to embrace your emotions in a healthy way.  Emotions are a gift from God, you know.  They’re good to have. 

I pray that you make dear, lasting friendships.  I pray that you see your immeasurable value in this world, on a large scale, but also in the smaller scale. I pray you realize you carry light, joy, and love with you wherever you go.  I pray that you never feel discouraged, or if you do, to realize that you’re a warrior, and overcomer, brave, and worthy.  

I pray that every day you find reasons to smile, to laugh, to run and play.  

I pray that you never doubt that you are loved.

I pray you feel God with you every single day, and see Jesus alongside every step you take.

I pray that you always know what a resilient little miracle you are.

I pray you always know that your brother and sister are in your corner and they love you with all of their hearts.

Sweet boy, I am so thankful God placed you in my arms at 2:11am, nearly eight years ago.  I am so blessed to be your momma.  You make me a stronger, kinder, more patient woman.  You teach me so much about unconditional love.  

You are, alongside your siblings, my greatest treasure.  

You’re the best things that ever happened to me.  I am so glad that you’re mine.  I will tell you that, every night we have together, as long as I am able.

Happy birthday, in the morning, Collin.

I love you,

Mom

Begin Again

 This year, as we are all aware, has been one unlike any other.  That sounds so cliche because every year is different, but with an on-going pandemic still taunting our lives, there have been so many events we have never faced before.

The school year is no different.  In-person learning, locally, ended abruptly in March right about the time that I came down with covid-19.   The week I awaited my test results and gradually became sicker, we attempted the distance learning model at home.  When I became so sick I could hardly breathe sitting still, let alone walk around the apartment or deal with school work, we quit for multiple weeks.  

The children never went back to their classrooms again, not even to pick up school supplies.  Everything was handled outside the school building.  Playgrounds and parks were closed.  Swimming pools never opened.  The summer was also, one we had never experienced before.  As I have still been dealing with lasting effects of a six week fever from covid-19 and subsequent pneumonia, then a break and two weeks fighting off bronchitis, I have worked very little at my job, and we have been at home more than we have since I was a stay-at-home-mom six years ago.

What simultaneously seemed like suddenly and also ages later, the school year approached.  

Locally, the decision was made for the kiddos at our elementary school to have two separate first days, divided alphabetically.  That meant that my littles had their first day back inside the school building this past Friday.

They had been excited, nervous, anxious, and occasionally dreaded going back.  There were so many changes happening this year.  Masks are expected for students and faculty, and although not mandatory, we are told that if your child doesn’t wear a mask, they’ll be repeatedly asked to put one on, questioned, and parents may be contacted.  (Side note: this is not a mask debate, so please do not start one.). Each of my children’s classes will be eating lunch in their classrooms this year.  The playground has been divided into sections, and none of the classrooms in each grade level are permitted to play together during recess.  Visitors are restricted.  The sick policy is very stringent... so forth and so on.

So, when we prepared for school to begin, there was a lot to process.  Truthfully, having survived the virus, although it’s still causing me issues, my children and I have looked the potential fatality of it straight in the face and come out the other side, so I haven’t felt worried or anxious about sending my children to school. I know the risks involved, and I’ve heard all sides of the debates going on.  It was the right choice for my family for my children to return to school.

The first day of school for my children was riddled with initial excitement, some grumpiness, a little rain, a little sunshine, typical first day photos, and a fun new addition in that they were able to take a photo with their future step-sister, who also started the same day, and is now going to the same school they are.  As we walked to the school, knowing that unlike years past, we could not wait together on the playground, and children could not play on the playground before school, their nerves started rising slightly.  As we approached the doors they will enter this year and pulled up their masks over their noses, both boys hugged me and walked in with slight-to-no-hesitation.  Their sister was a different story.  She cried and clung to momma as hard as she could, eventually taking the hand of a friend and going inside.

I cried as I walked away.  It was not tears of fear or anxiety.  It was tears of letting go, tears of change, tears of momma-hood.

I was fortunate to pick them up for daycare myself, and each ran out of the school with a smile.  We talked about the days and they all reported that the first day was good.  The only complaint came from the middle kiddo.  There’s a nut allergy in his classroom and because they are eating inside the classroom, this year he cannot have peanut butter or Nutella, which is his favorite sandwich combination.  After researching and connecting with the proper faculty, we decided on Wow-butter and jelly as an alternative.  I sampled it and thought it tasted nearly identical.  I did not tell him about the swap because I was sure that if I did he wouldn’t give the sandwich a chance.

The report, his day was “good but there was something wrong with the sandwich at lunch.”  He took two bites and declared that to his classroom.  I tried it again today with more jelly.  We shall see what the report is.  He knows the science behind acquiring a taste for new foods, because he’s told me all about it before.  Somehow, the boys seem to think that it doesn’t apply to them personally however.  

Today was the second day of school.  Due to a light work schedule this week, I am able to walk them to their doors again.  This morning went more breezily, and there were less tears from the little miss.  There was more sunshine in the sky and less supplies in the backpacks.  There were still masks on the faces, but bigger smiles in the eyes.  Hopefully, there will be less wow-butter sandwich left in the box.

There they go.

Today was a big day in our household.   Everyone woke early with all sorts of nervous, excited anticipation of what was to come- the very first day of school, where all three siblings would be in the same elementary school.  They'll continue on there for a few more years together, but this year, the oldest is a 3rd grader, the middle is a 1st grader, and the youngest started kindergarten.

I woke early and began praying over my babies before their eyes ever opened.  Last night was rough for Norah, as she laid her head on her pillow, she started crying. I asked why and she gave me a reason, but I didn't think it was the real reason, so I asked if she was nervous for school.  She shook her head yes and began crying, unleashing all of her worries and fears.  She had been putting up a brave face for a while, and it was good, although almost unbearable to walk through, the flood gates opening wide.  I prayed overnight that she would be filled with peace in the morning.

Each of my babies put on their first day of school clothing in a hurry, and sat at the table, full of giggles and smiles as I finished preparing for the day.  We then headed out front for our annual first day photos.  We had time to spare, so little miss asked if we could go to daycare and she could surprise her best friend (my coworker) before school, like we have visited her for almost every day for five years.  She was so excited to open the door and jump through and give her hugs before school started.  Then, we met up with their dad who gave them his well wishes on his way to work, and off we went to find a parking spot fairly close to the school.  We managed to be only about two blocks away.



The walk, as it was two years ago, and three years ago, was pretty quiet.  The children shuffled along in a line at first, and then two in front, and then three all together, as we neared the school.   When we were about a block away, big brother bear Spencer insisted he hold his little sister's hand the rest of the way.

We got to the playground and, as usual, it was filled with all sorts of excited and nervous energy, happy laughter, tearful smiles, and people all over the place.  Collin immediately found his class line and some friends, and we almost had to beg him for a hug each before he told us to have a good day and went off on his own.  Norah and I walked Spencer to his line and hugged him, before she transferred her hand from his to mine.  She hadn't said much yet, so I asked if she was excited and she gave a quiet "yes" while looking shocked at the amount of people around her.  Eventually, she spotted some of the kids she has spent most of her life with at daycare, and hugged them, finally excited for the day to come.

We found her line and stood together, and I asked if we could take a picture together.  She said yes, and we both smiled at the phone.  As soon as I had the photo taken, she turned to hug me, and the bell rang.  Lines started moving inside, and she began to cry.  She was scared, she was nervous, and she was afraid she would miss me all day.  She didn't know if she could do it.  I held her close and reminded her she's brave and that she would see me in a few hours.  I nearly had to peel her off of my torso, before she released enough to be just holding my hand, and I walked her as far as I could to the door.

As she went inside, I realized I was crying, too.

I cried on the way to work.  I calmed myself enough to go inside.

Then her best friend asked me if we made it through okay.  I said yes, but my voice was already crying. 

I was okay for three hours before I cried again.

The hardest part was that I couldn't just hear her voice, text her teacher upstairs to check on her, or walk there myself.  I knew I wouldn't just randomly see her in the hallway.  She was far away with a teacher I don't really know, for the first time ever.  Almost five years in the same building is a hard tradition to break.

I received a text from a friend who works at the school, saying she saw Miss Norah and she was doing amazing.   I felt so much better.

Both Spencer and Norah visited me at work briefly after school and said they had great days.  At the end of the day, Collin reported the same.  I was also told that Norah was so kind at school that there was another little girl crying at recess because she missed her mom so much, and Norah helped her to feel better.  My heart about burst.

I knew it was going to be okay.  I knew what I told myself the other night- it was time to let her go and spread her light, her love, and her joy at the school.

Tonight, as I sit here, all three sound asleep within minutes after a long and overwhelming day, and I am filled with anticipation at hearing what will come of their lives, all in the elementary school, shining their light.  I pray that they will make the world a better, brighter place.  I let them all go.    I have tears on my face as I realize the younger years are done, the baby days will never be back, and their journeys are well underway. I pray I've done well in preparing them.

I know they'll make me proud.

I know it's time...

Tonight, my slightly dramatic Momma heart is aching.  Tonight, I sit in quiet living room, my mind whirling as I prepare for bed, exhausted and tired, but not quite wanting to go to sleep.  I would like to postpone the hours of the day just a little big longer in hopes to prevent tomorrow from coming too soon.

Tomorrow is another milestone in our little family.  Tomorrow is the end of a chapter in our lives, one that's been almost five years in the making, that's somehow arrived at a close way too soon.

Tomorrow is my little girl's last day of full-time daycare before she goes off to elementary school.

It's funny to me that I'm so emotional about this.  Both of her older brothers have come and gone from the daycare rooms already.  Her oldest brother has been gone for almost as many years as she has been there.  I don't know if it's harder just because she's the youngest, or more likely, harder because she's been there longest.

Daycare has been a huge part of my life story with this beautiful girl.  

Her first day of daycare

She, the boys, and I all started daycare together on December 8, 2014.  She was 8 months old, and the other two were a toddler and a preschooler.  We ended up at our daycare by a sheer act of God, where I was able to be employed and there was room for all three of them to be there with me in the building while I worked.   It was a huge blessing in a very dark and chaotic time in our lives.  

Nearly every single day since, Norah and I have gone to daycare together.  The boys were with us too, for a while, but they both eventually left us behind, and the last two years, it was just the two of us.  My baby girl has spent the majority of her life at this daycare, with many of the same staff throughout the years, and a lot of the same children growing up alongside her.  It's been a huge constant in our lives.  It's so familiar.  She radiates joy throughout the halls, and I love bringing her with me every day to stop in and say hello to her "best friend," a momma-like figure in her life, her first daycare teacher, and my dear friend.  Every day she comes in for a hug, gets the lowdown on the lunch for the day, and bounces out the door calling out "I love you!" before we make our way to her classroom.

Tomorrow is the last day for that daily tradition (except for school breaks, which seem so far away right now).  Soon, I'll just be coming through that door all alone.  As I write this, it seems like an echoing memory that hasn't even had a chance to actually develop yet.

I've loved the security of having a job and also knowing my babies were safe within the same walls with people I've trusted and known were loving them all day.  It's been so hard to let each of the boys go.  This one just feels a little harder.  My dramatic side already worries that the halls will seem a little colder and the days a little lonelier knowing that all of my children will be down the street for most of their days from here on out.

Yet, I know it's time.

It's time to let go.

It's time to see her grow.

A few weekends ago at church, we were asked to take a moment to listen and hear what we thought God was wanting to tell us, and write it down.

The only thing I heard was, "You are raising light."

It made sense.  "We are the lights" is a lyric to one of our favorite songs (by Cade Thompson), our wi-fi network is "Be a light," and I get "light" songs stuck in my head frequently.  But this was a little different, which I didn't really grasp until tonight as I kissed them all to sleep and left the room.

Photo Credit: Seize the Day Photography and Video

I am raising light.  I have been doing the best I can to raise them to be bright, positive influences on the world, before I let them all go out on their own.  The boys have already entered the school.  Now, she will.  Now it's her turn to bring light, sunshine, joy, and love to the world outside the walls who already know her for those exact reasons.  She's ready to join her big brothers, and I pray that together, they're able to spread joy, love, laughter, kindness, and Jesus to those around them in their personalities, words, and actions.

I know it's time...

Even if I don't want to let her go.

When you rise, you will be five.

Dearest, sweetest girl of mine,

You have drifted off to sleep now, my love, after two full days of celebrating your birthday, which greets us when we wake in the morning.  You have been so excited and giddy with anticipation of this day for oh, so long now.  The little twinkle in your chocolate brown eyes gets me every time you smile, telling anyone who will listen that you are almost five.

Five.

How can that be?

Was it really that long ago that my completely unexpected, little ray of sunshine brightened this world?

I've said it before, but I will say it again.  I never knew I needed you, I never knew this family needed you, until we met you face to face.

Norah, dear, you are a gem.  You bring such sparkle to our lives, not just in literal form with all your pretty jewelry and glitzy garments, but your personality just radiates in a way I didn't know was possible. 

I've been told multiple times recently that you are just the sweetest, kindest little lady, caring so much for others bringing joy to many lives.  I sat here thinking last night, as I thought about what I wanted to write to you this year, that someday, I hope to be more like you.  Well, I mean, in some ways.  I do appreciate the fact that I know which shoe goes on which foot and I can zip up my own boots on the first try, most of the time.  But in matters of the heart, I think your brothers and I have some things to learn.  You forget offenses so simply a lot of the time, are so quick to forgive, and bursting with hugs and laughter. 

Little girl, you bring so much sound into our world.  You're your own little symphony.   You're always either talking, laughing, yelling, crying, or singing at the top of your lungs.  It's very rare you're silent- usually only while you sleep.  You have so much to say, and so many songs to sing.  I love when you break out in worship songs multiple times a day, whether its in your room, in the van, in the yard, or in the shower.  I try, when you're not paying attention, to catch it on video, so I can hear your small, gigantic voice for the rest of my life.

You have a wonderful sense of humor, and a nice helping of sass, rounded out with so much intelligence that you amaze me.  I was telling someone today, that you are so very smart, but that you're still little enough, though not for long, that you know big words and sometimes just cannot say them correctly.  I will be so sad when I no longer hear words like "callipetter" coming from your mouth when you tell me all about the little worm that turns into a butterfly.  These days will fly by all too quickly, and you will probably know more words than even I do.

Pip, I love when you help me bake in the kitchen, and I am so excited that I was able to create for you, the cake of your dreams this year.  Literally... your little unicorn loving mind has dreamed you riding on a rainbow unicorn with pink hair so many times.  You probably tell your brothers and I all about it at least once a week.  The look on your face when you see something that overwhelms you with joy is so unbridled I cannot help be overwhelmed with joy right alongside you.

Darling, you are a perfect combination of girly-little-princess-ballerina-with-pearls and please-let-me-pick-up-thirty-worms-in-the-rain.  You keep us on our toes, trying to keep up with what you adore and what you dislike.  I'm so thankful you are brave enough to try new things.  I promise you, we will be eating spaghetti soon, and I really do think you will like it.  I mean, you tell me all the time how your favorite foods are salmon and cottage cheese, and I have seen you eat noodles and sauce before.  I think you're just trying to pull one over on me, really.

Oh, beautiful, Norah B, I cannot wait to see what this next year has in store for you.  You finally will attain your dream of going to kindergarten, and I'll be left all alone to drive to work in the mornings.  I know you're going to do amazing at school, and I pray that you love it as much as you believe that you will.

I also pray that you will always stay kind.  I pray your heart will continue to grow and shine God's love to everyone around you.  I pray that you will change the world for the good.  I pray you will always know that you really are a princess- a daughter of the King.  I know we have talked about it before.  I pray that every time you feel the world tries to knock you down, you stand up, tall and strong, and press on with bravery and grace.  I pray that every single day you find numerous reasons to laugh.  I pray you never stop singing.  I pray that you never feel that you are anything short of a treasure.

Your brothers and I are so thankful for you.  I know it's not always easy growing up the "baby" of the family with two older brothers who are bigger and stronger than you and who, as you say, get their way more often (I promise you that's not true, at least I don't think it is...) but you round out our little family perfectly.  While you and the boys might get so sick of each other and fight about the most random of things, I know that you will always love and each other, stand by each other, and have each other's backs.  I see it daily.  Those brothers, they adore you.  Don't ever forget the countless times they call you a princess, and mean it with sincere love.  Don't forget how they agree to play dolls or superhero dolls, horses, or tea party with you.  Don't forget how they like to try to teach you things, too.  I know Spencer gets frustrated that you don't know how to multiply yet, but consider it a compliment that he thinks you're just that advanced.

Thank you, Norah, for showing us sunshine we didn't know before you came along.  Thank you for never letting anyone dim your fire.  Thank you for all the snuggles, the hugs, the kisses, and the laughs.

I love you, Sweet Pea.

-Momma

Then came eight.

Dearest Spencer,

Today was a bit chaotic, I know, as is always the case the day before your birthday. Halloween brings a hustle and bustle and excitement amongst children all around us, and I wonder sometimes if you feel like your birthday gets a little overlooked because of it.

But dear son, let me assure you, it does not.

Yes, Halloween is widely celebrated, and the world doesn't necessarily realize that your big day follows right after.

But, in my mind, the crazy holiday cannot compare in the slightest to your birthday.

You see, my dear boy, the day you were born was monumental for so many lives- but especially for you and for me.

That was day that you made me a mommy, you know. I had prayed and waited for it for years.  And then it happened.  And you captured my heart with your very first breath.

Spencer, you still have my heart in the palm of your hand.

I know we've had a bit of a rough spot lately.  I am so sorry for that. I know I've been exhausted, stressed, and not as much fun as you would probably like.  I am so sorry.   Life has us so busy lately.

But I also know that you're growing up, so big and so fast.  You've begun showing and sometimes outright telling me that you're looking for more independence.  You've left the itty bitty kid phase, and are transitioning so quickly out of the little kid phase straight on to being a big kid.  It's hard on my heart when I realize it, but I try not to let you know.  It's little things, like wanting to watch kid shows and not cartoons, reading chapter books and books without as many pictures, or the other day, when you asked if you could play with some "new friends"....

across...

the...

street..............................................


And I said yes.  And I let you go.  Sure, I peeked out the window and watched you cross the street, but I didn't let you see that.

But that was a huge moment for me.  It's when it really dawned on me that you are growing up, and you're gaining independence, and needing me less.

Or even maybe... a little... as much as I hate to say this or think about it...

wanting to be with me less.

*gulp*

I've realized over the past year that you prefer to talk to other people over me sometimes.  When I ask you about your day, it seems like you don't have much to say to me.  But if someone else were to ask, there are many details that dance out on your voice.

I know.

You're becoming a big kid.  And I'm not as cool as I once was.

And that's normal.

And that's okay.

Even though it's not okay with my heart.

I have to trust that you will always know that I'm cool enough to trust, to lean on, to rely on, to need, to enjoy, to love.

You're entering into this weird world that I don't completely understand.  I grew up in a small town, went to a small school, and I'm a girl.  You're a city boy.  It's silly, but sometimes I don't feel like I can relate to certain aspects of your life.  I'm trying though.

Just like I try to pretend I know what you're talking about when you start talking about Star Wars.

Your interests are changing and sometimes I don't have a clue because they don't line up with mine at all.  I hope that you know that doesn't mean I don't care.  I just don't always understand. But I try, and when I can't, I try to find you someone who might have more knowledge than I do.

You're still figuring out who you are.  I'm being patient as I see who you become, and I pray that you're being patient with yourself.  That's one thing I completely relate to, even now, as an adult.  It's a lifelong discovery, and we all need more than a little grace.

While there's so many things changing in your life, there are still so many that remain constant.

Like your good, kind, caring heart.

Your hilarious sense of humor (although I will admit, the made up 'knock knock' jokes are a little much to handle sometimes).

You're adventurous and brave.

You love God.

You love others.

You love seeing your siblings at the end of the day and you always greet them with huge smiles and hugs on the days we meet on the school playground.

You are incredibly smart. Your teacher showed me your standardized test scores, remember, and you did amazing. 

You're honest about your opinion and thoughts on things.  Sometimes, I prefer not to know that you think I look silly or am being embarrassing, but at least you're truthful.

You're a little emotional, and trying to figure out how to handle that.  But, you know what, I can't blame you there, because again, I am too.  You don't like to be alone.  While these might seem like they aren't entirely positive to you, and maybe a little stressful to both of us at times, I appreciate them deeply, because they show me you're still a little kid inside, and we still have a lot of this journey toward big to get through.

I pray that over the next year, you continue to give yourself grace as you continue to figure out who you are in this world.  I pray that you'll continue to make good, wholesome, positive friendships, and that you will continue to tell me when people aren't being kind to you, even if it means you're crying.  Then, I can build you up and remind you how much I love you and how great you are.  I know those moments hurt your heart though, because they hurt mine, too.

I pray that you'll continue to and renew your love for school. I know second grade isn't "as fun" as kindergarten and first but I also know that you love to learn, and I believe that you'll enjoy your educational career just as I did.

I pray that you'll give yourself brief moments of reprieve when you're frustrated, and pause before you speak.  Once you say something, you cannot take it back.  But don't be too hard on yourself about this right now, it's something adults struggle with, too.

I pray your heart will continue to grow in your love for others and the world.  I pray that you'll continue to be a light in dark places, and show the love of Jesus to those around you.  You are amazing at this.  

I pray you'll start hearing God's voice, clearly, regularly, and that His truth can come to you directly, as well as through me.  I cannot wait to see what he has in store for you.  I believe it will be big.

And, I pray that you will never doubt your worth.  I pray you will never doubt how wonderful you are.  You are perfect in God's image, and you are one of the very best things that has ever happened to me.  You teach me more about life and love than you'll ever know.  I pray you will never question how deeply you are loved.

In that regard, I also pray that you never determine your self-worth and your value based on the absence of someone who we both feel should be around, telling and showing you that he loves you.  On some level, it's a relief to me that you don't mention your dad as much anymore, but mostly, it breaks my heart for you that his lack of interest and involvement in your life has become so ordinary.  I will not spoil your birthday with my anger, but I am angry for you, and your siblings, that he's missing yet another year, and another birthday.  But, just because he is still gone, it has no merit as to who you are, how important and wonderful you are, or anything of the sort.

I pray that, as we continue to navigate this world together, learning as we go, we continue to have patience for one another in unchartered waters.  It's always new territory for both of us, but we are in it together.  That's the blessing of our bond, first child of mine.

And I pray for ever increasing joy, and that you never lose that sparkle in your eyes and that jubilant echo in your laughter.

Spencer, I love you.

I love you more than you'll ever know.  

Happy Birthday in the morning, buddy.  That day is better than any dress-up holiday this world could ever offer you.

-Mom

Six in the Center

Mister Collin,

Tonight, you are still five.

But six years ago, at this time, I lay in the hospital, wondering just who I was going to meet in the morning.  At 2:11am, I found out that my second little miracle birth was a second little boy.  Born with a tightly cinced, stacked, undetected double-knot in your umbilical cord, it was decided that God and his angels had clear protection over you.  From the moment God created you, you were a warrior.

I see that more and more each year.

This past year has been a rollercoaster ride on many levels.  You and I have had our struggles, you've had your own struggles, our little family has had struggles... but we have had SO MUCH JOY.  We have laughed until we've wheezed and cried.  We have loved until our hearts might explode.  We have sung as loud as we can over and over again.  We have made so many memories, both a little terrifying, like just a few weeks ago when I thought I lost you, and a couple weeks later when I saved you from drowning, and jubilant like when we pet sharks and held snakes, or did cannonballs into the pool together, just to name a few recent ones.

You, my little man, are incredible.  You have overcome so many things the world has thrown against you, and you still walk tall with eyes filled with light and joy.  You don't let anything get you down for too long. You're quick to apologize, and quick to forgive.  You take your mistakes, and you try, most of the time, to learn and move forward.  We all struggle with this, so I understand how sometimes that's just too hard.

You've been working hard at managing the huge emotions in your little heart and mind.  

You are so smart. Sometimes, I feel like you've taught me more this year than I have taught you.  You are always filling our days with random facts, especially about animals.  It never ceases to amaze me how you hold information so well.  

I've learned just how highly you think of me, and it has come in perfect times when I felt like I might be failing you.  I've been told by sources you confide in, and it gives me such strength.

I know we've had tough times.  I won't dwell on those, though.  We strive to choose joy, day in and day out.  

I've felt, since you were a baby, that you would be a big brother, and therefore, a middle child.  You're in the center of your siblings, and it's a perfect fit for you.  You're a fun little brother, a little ornery at times, but you're also a fun big brother too.  You're a protector to both of your siblings, and you don't hesitate for a moment to stand up to anything coming against them when you see that it's wrong.

I know that five was a heavy, busy, fun, difficult, brilliant, joy-filled year of growth and challenges.   I know realistically that six may be similar.  But the best part is that we face each day with hope, with joy, with love, with grace, with God, family, and friends.  Six is going to be amazing.

This year, you've experienced the finality of death and end of life.  I know that it weighs on your heart sometimes, and we have been talking about turning six, which brings conflicting emotions.  I know you struggle with realizing that you won't live forever, and turning six tomorrow makes you feel like your life is flying by.  I feel the same.  It's gone way too quickly, and will continue you to do.  I know it scares you.  I promise to try my best to help you overcome those fears, to pray with you, and to have answers to your questions.  I pray for peace in your heart when you worry.

I pray for joy- an over abundance of joy.  I pray for laughter that echoes in our minds forever.  I pray for strength. I pray for courage.  I pray for peace.  I pray that each and every day you see just how wonderful you are.  I pray that when you feel like things in the world are against you, you remember who is always FOR you.  I pray that you feel comfort in my arms every day, and love enveloping your every breath.  I pray this for you, and I pray it for your siblings too.  I know how lately, you like things to be equal like that.  *wink*

I love that time keeps passing and your looks keep changing, but some things haven't changed at all- like the pure excitement and joy, and reckless abandon in which you embrace the people you love after you haven't seen them for a little while, whether it be hours, days, weeks, or months.  You're basically famous for your full-contact, full-force, full-body hugs, whether it's at home, daycare, church, or family settings.  There's not a doubt in anyone's mind when you love them.  It may catch us off-guard sometimes if we aren't quite ready, but it's a beautiful, wonderful thing to see just how fully you love.

You have great, wonderful, amazing, untold things in store for you, my little miracle in the center.  As much as I hate that time keeps passing by so quickly, I cannot wait to see what God has in store for you.

I love you.  You (and your siblings) are the best thing that's ever happened to me.

And, I don't know if I've told you this recently, but I will never grow tired hearing you say that right back to me.

As you laid down tonight, with your new stuffed Rex in your arm that you let my friend autograph today, then flexed to show us how cool you were, I watched the juxtaposition of little-big drifting off to sleep before my eyes.  Please stay little-big just a little-lot longer if you can.  

You make me so proud, Ollie Bear.

Love,

Mommy

Another Dad-less Father's Day

Here we are again.

Father's Day.

My children... still without their earthly father in their lives.

I thought it would get easier, going through yet another Father's Day with my children longing for their dad, but somehow this year was harder.

Their dad was "around" last year for Father's Day, sort of.  He had spent roughly six months seeing them multiple times a month after a year-and-a-half-ish disappearance.  But by Father's Day, he was slowly fading out again.

It's now been nearly a year since the kids have seen or heard from their dad.  I am holding onto hope that progress is being made, after finally talking with their dad again, that they will see him again soon, and that he will be a positive in their lives.  But, when you've had your trust violated hundreds of times by the same person, even when you believe with your whole soul that God can and does perform miracles, and can redeem anything and everything, you're very skeptical and guarded even when things seem they may turn around.

This year, the children are all older, obviously, and each one of them understanding Father's Day now, makes it harder on them.  In turn, it's harder on the mom who is also pulling the weight of the dad.

This morning, we woke up for church, the kids were excited as they are every Sunday.  Then, the oldest mentioned it was Father's Day.  The middle one laid back down with the covers over his face and proclaimed he was sad.  He missed his daddy.  He never sees his daddy, and his daddy is rude because his daddy doesn't make good choices.  I never have told them any details of their dad's abandonment or betrayals, just that he's not making good choices.  I started crying, unable to hold back tears, and told them all how sorry I was that their dad is still not making the choices that lead him back to them, and that I know they miss him, and that I miss him being in their lives too.  We regrouped and moved happily on to church.

While at daycare, the children made their gifts for me, or for their Papa.  They were all thrilled to do so.

At Sunday School this morning, two out of three of them made pictures for their dads.  It was either an oversight or perhaps the teacher had no idea.  The kids handled it well, though.

I sobbed at church.  I often cry, because worship moves my soul like that.  But today, I just felt the pain my children have been expressing over the past week.  I have been weighed down with their burden, knowing that I cannot understand what it must feel like to be rejected by their dad.  I cannot imagine being so young, and feeling like my dad doesn't care enough about me to see me.  Or call me.  Or send a card.  I just cannot wrap my mind around that, and to know they have pain I can't understand breaks my heart.

They're all so strong, though.  Truly.

At daycare on Friday, someone kept asking my oldest son repeatedly, "Is your dad even gonna be there for Father's Day?"  My son said nothing.  He was so strong.

The message was obviously themed around fatherhood, fathers of all kinds, including spiritual fathers.  I am so blessed to be able to look around the sanctuary, right around my own seat, and see men who have stepped up as spiritual fathers in my childrens' lives.  God placed me in the perfect church for my children for that reason.  They are loved there.

The message was hard, though, as I sat, knowing that their dad was somewhere across town, not embracing his God given role to be a father to his own children.  I felt the burden of a father, pulling as much as I can of the weight of both roles.  But I'm not a father.  I'm a mother doing as much as she can in the absence of a father.  It's obviously not the same.  I wept.  I'm so grateful for the support I have in church, as my dear friend whispered she had already placed tissues under my chair, because she knew it was going to be a hard day for me.  That's love.

We came home, and the kids all were silent for a while.  We talked about missing their dad again. They watched a cartoon and I hid in my room for a bit, crying again, just thinking about how much they miss him, and how I hope with all my heart he will follow through and be reunited with them.

I decided that we would leave and enjoy the park and the sunshine and fresh air, laughter and memories together, because we are good at that.  But, of course, being Father's Day, the park was filled with big gatherings and lots of kids with their dads.  My children noticed too, and we each had separate moments together under the tree where I filled them with God's Truth about who they are, their value, and my love for them.  Every single one of them told me I was the best mom in the whole world and that they loved me so much.  And I stopped crying.  Because I knew they were really okay, even though they were hurting.

Because God's got us, as he always does.

But, like I said, this year was harder.  I also believe it was harder, because it's yet another year, another milestone, another holiday, where their dad is consciously choosing to be absent.  Yes, he's contacted me with interest in seeing them.  But he hasn't followed through completely, has stalled out some, and we aren't where we thought we would be by now.  And I know that's on him, and I know that I am doing what's best for my children in giving him steps to follow through and not a free pass.  But that doesn't make it easy.  It doesn't mean it doesn't feel like I'm hiding things from them.

I have to just keep praying.

Even when it's hard.

Especially when it's hard.

But hopefully, this year will be the last year where my kids have a dad-less Father's Day.

The good news is, we WILL make it through, no matter what, stronger, happier, more resilient, and filled with boundless joy and love.  It has been our testimony since the day our world started crumbling.  God's mercies are new every morning.

A little bit of three left

My Sweet Sunshine,

Yesterday, you told me, "Mama, I only have a little bit of three left."

While beaming with pride at your brilliance and innocence, my heart began to fiercely ache.

Four years ago, I struggled to sleep, my whole body sore and tired, waiting for you to arrive the next day. Tonight, only my heart is sore and tired, reflecting on the four years that seemed to inch forward at times, but truly bursting forth in a flash.

It's so hard for a momma to savor every moment of your innocent infant and toddlerhood, as the days are often fraught with mundane daily chores, meltdowns, and little sleep, and I sit here with regret knowing so many moments were lost and not cherished as they should have been.

As a whole, though, my darling, I have cherished our almost four years of sharing gazes, snuggles, and memories.

Miss Norah, you have become such an outgoing, spunky, opinionated, sassy, sweet, loving, gorgeous ray of sunshine. You remind us all what is kind and unkind, and grace everyone with forgiveness. You falter, as we all do, and meet correction with resistance initially, but always come back with the humble willingness to try again. You are friend to so many, and kind to most everyone we meet, whether you know them or not.

I love listening to your narrative play, especially when you narrate by song. You have such a creative mind. I love how much you love our cats. I love watching you do things when you don't realize it. You make my heart so happy.

Your zest for life is so catchy and you become elated over some of the most peculiar and mundane things, and it is joyous to watch you react. Your love for unicorns, kittens, and elephants, is especially wonderful.

You are gentle but also rough. You are sugar and spice. You burn with the love of Jesus.

I pray countless blessings over you in your fourth year. I pray you continue to bring joy to those around you. I pray you feel the love of Jesus continue to grow in your heart and that you are able to bring His love to the hearts of others. I pray you know your worth and never doubt how beautiful, intelligent, and amazing you are.

You are a treasure, baby girl!

We are so lucky to have you.

Happy fourth birthday tomorrow, sweet girl.